A love letter to Gravy


Dear Gravy,

Hey. It’s been a while. I hope everything’s ok with you. I guess things have been pretty distant between us recently. And personally, I feel so awful about it.

Look it’s not you, it’s meat. Like seriously dry meat. And I can’t deal with it any longer.

I’ve been seeing other condiments lately, but it’s not my fault. When I moved to the south of England, I didn’t believe the rumours on the grape vine. ‘They don’t like gravy down south’ I laughed in the face of this rumour, ‘But everyone likes gravy’ I replied.

 But I guess I was wrong.

It all started back in September 2012. My first night of fresher’s was over. It was a good night. I was ready to hit the hay. But not before the  classic combination of :chips, cheese and gravy.

I didn’t know the area. I stumbled in to the first chicken shop I saw, I approached the counter:

‘chips, cheese and gravy please’ I slurred

‘What?’ replied the aghast fast food worker

I repeated my order

‘We don’t do that here – I can do curry sauce’

In that split second, all my dreams had been shattered. I turned around, assuming to be backed up by angry freshers demanding that they provide gravy. The freshers shrugged, nonchalantly, ‘it’s not really a thing down south’. I held back a tear, I kept it together, I didn’t want my new friends to see me upset like this.  

But, I knew at that moment, I had made a terrible mistake.

I had embarked on a university course, and I hadn’t even checked to see that the city, that I would be residing in for 3 whole years, served gravy.

I eventually began to come to terms with my decision, and hence started a new life for myself; a life without gravy.

I won’t deny that it wasn’t hard for me, it was. My southern friends from Kent and Hertfordshire would taunt me, ‘I heard up north, people actually drink gravy, hahahhaha can you imagine?!’ they had no idea, what I would do for a steaming hot mug of gravy right that minute. I simply smiled, and nodded, they were unaware of the pain I was going through.

But today, I threw the metaphysical towel in. Today I went to a restaurant. Today is Sunday. Therefore, I was ordering the Sunday roast, ‘accompanied with Yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy!’ the menu teased. ‘We’ll see’, I thought. I daren’t get my hopes up.

The meal arrived. The Yorkshire pudding was massive. The roast potatoes were golden, and the meat was succulent. But one thing was missing. The gravy.

I called the waiter over; ‘sorry, excuse me, is there gravy on this dish?’

He pointed underneath the Yorkshire pudding. I grimaced.

Like a scene in a Dicken’s novel, I dared to ask, what no other diner had ever dared to ask before,

‘may I have some more gravy please?’


And then we were reunited gravy. Me and you: against the world. We destroyed that Sunday roast. And we did it together.

I just wanted to say, I think you’re the best, gravy. I hope one day, gravy will be served through out fast food outlet across the country. Maybe one day. But until that day, I’ll have to make do without,

Yours forever more,

Hannah Birt

Procrastinating student since 2012